Chapter 8
Dick wasn’t sure what he thought of the Red Hood. Of Peter, although that could be an alias.
On one hand, he was still the notorious Red Hood, crime lord and beheader extraordinaire. He was also, apparently, a former League member and trainer.
Dick found that he reviled League trainers more than any of Hood’s other occupations. It was one thing to be an assassin, or a dealer, or whatever the hell else Hood was. It was another thing entirely to twist a kid into something the League of Assassins thought was acceptable.
Damian’s first memory was of a mission that had him crawling through vents, windows, and cracks in the fencing to disarm a security system and open the door from the inside. Peter had apparently been there.
So yeah. Dick was pissed. He’d love to write off Hood as an asshole and turn up the voltage on his escrima.
But Damian adored him.
That by itself was weird enough. Damian was wary even of the people he cared about, and it was hard to gain any of his trust.
But the Red Hood also indulged Damian (as well as protecting other kids as best he could), and wasn’t that a trip?
There was no denying that they met in the League, or that Peter didn’t have expectations for Damian that were far above any reasonable standards for Damian’s age peers.
But whenever Damian was hungry or needed backup one of the rest of them couldn’t provide, he ran straight to Hood. And Hood provided whatever the kid asked for immediately, which-
Made Dick nervous, actually. What was the catch? Was Damian doing favors for Hood? Was he simply paying Hood off? Was this the League equivalent of meeting for coffee?
Dick simply didn’t have enough information, and that was unacceptable. None of his bugs lasted more than 24 hours, and most didn’t last more than 12. No matter what kind of bug or where he tried to hide them in Hood’s hideouts and safe houses.
Going in person has netted him more information, but still-
God. He’d known that being raised in the League had to have sucked. It was good to know Damian had had a guard, of sorts.
The real question was, how loyal to the League was Hood? Was he helping Damian out of loyalty to Damian? To the League? Out of guilt?
Red Hood had found Robin, gotten him a fear toxin antidote, and led a rescue based only on Robin’s intel, and then stuck around to make sure everyone got freed and was stable. Despite the people Robin was freeing being an active detriment to Hood’s work.
Which meant they could probably count on Hood to protect Damian under most circumstances which— Dick would be lying if that weren’t one helluva comfort.
That was way more than just guard work. Same with Hood making sure Robin ate things he wanted to eat. That looked like some weird kind of coping mechanism, if Dick knew anything, but if it worked, it worked.
Damian was still growing, and he had been underweight when he had gotten to them. From punishments.
Seeing them interact over dinner would be interesting. And it was useful to get confirmation that Red Hood knew their identities in and out of costume, although it shouldn’t really have been a surprise. Not if he’d been guarding Damian from birth.
Damian was waiting at the front window with his face so close to the glass it was leaving fog.
It was absolutely adorable.
Dick liked seeing Damian act like a kid, not that he’d say so anywhere he might be overheard. He liked keeping his fingers attached.
Damian had, actually, sat with Alfred in the kitchen and ‘helped’. Mostly by interrogating Alfred about the exact techniques and ingredients he would be using, and then supervising.
And after seeing him in the kitchen with Peter? Dick was at least 75% sure he was just trying to bond with Alfie. Certainly, Alfred was tolerating more interference than he would have from any of the rest of them. Dick had a feeling Alfie had figured it out, although maybe he was just being patient with the new grandkid. It was anyone’s guess.
As soon as the faintest rumble of an engine could be heard, Damian was dashing for the front door and leaving it open behind himself. That was interesting. Had he known what vehicle Peter was likely to show up on, or did he just know what the neighbors didn’t have?
A nice, civilian bike rumbled up in front of the house, and it wasn’t as loud or as flashy as Dick had expected. Was Peter angling for civilian anonymity?
Peter was also wearing a standard black motorcycle helmet with his riding gear, and that was good, too. He wasn’t here as the Red Hood.
And Damian clearly wasn’t there as Robin, because he was putting his feet in the straps of Peter’s pants. What the hell?
Peter was holding himself strangely, so Dick needed to get close enough to be backup. Not that Damian couldn’t handle himself but-
The whole situation was weird, that was all. Damian almost never initiated physical affection, and when he did, it was almost always something plausibly deniable. To hold on to someone like that outside of field maneuvers was—
Dick was pretty sure he didn’t like it.
Peter’s body language almost immediately changed as soon as Dick was within eyesight. He tried to get himself in between Damian and the threat. And reached for his holsters, which, had that been why his hands were free?
But Damian was climbing even further up Peter’s chest, and saying something with his mouth turned purposefully away. Was he talking Peter down? How and why would that be necessary, and why would Damian need to be the one talking down his guard, and what would have his guard so riled up already?
Damian gave the Bat signal for ‘stay back, situation volatile but handled’.
Well. That was pretty clear. Dick was going to stay close, though. Because as much as Damian was the most competent child Dick had ever encountered, he was a child.
It was barely thirty seconds, though, before Damian projected, “Richard,” and Dick almost snapped at him for using names in the field, despite the fact that they were on the front lawn in civvies. “This is Peter. Peter, this is Richard. He insists on being called Dick.”
And, well, Peter seemed to be interacting far more normally, although he was tense in a way that Dick would remain wary of. Especially since Damian’s face was buried in Peter’s chest, and the arm holding the motorcycle helmet was wrapped around him. Which wasn’t at all normal for Damian, and Dick very much wanted to know what Damian was noticing and reacting to. And how to fix it.
“Nice to officially meet you,” and they had, technically, officially met in these personas. In a grocery store while Peter was wearing heart-shaped sunglasses, of all things, but they had met. He should smile, in case the cameras were watching, cuz when weren’t they? “Why don’t you come on inside?”
Then, and only then, did Damian move from Peter’s arms. Peter let him go without comment, but Damian was…clinging to Peter’s pants? What was happening?
Damian seemed to be a more physical with Peter, which made sense if Peter had been training him from birth, but this was excessive even for what Dick had observed for the two of them in the field, where Damian was most tactile.
Something was strange.
Damian was messing with a few of the knives on Peter’s legs, and the easy way he did it without either of them breaking stride was telling. Dick was going to have to have another conversation about why telling people about your past was important. And try not to get smited for his own hypocrisy.
When Peter finally got to the front door, Dick had no idea what to do. Shake Peter’s hand with another greeting? Make sure Damian was okay?
He and Peter just stood there, staring at one another, until Alfred slid in behind Dick and placed a hand on the small of his back. Oh, thank God. Alfred would take care of it.
“Now, Master Peter,” and Peter looked up strangely at Alfred. Was that recognition, or something else? And was Damian messing with a sheath or trying to get Peter’s attention? “I have been informed that you are a rather accomplished cook and baker. I am very pleased to have finally met your acquaintance. Now, it seems as though you might prefer to keep your coat on. Is there anything you’d like me to take to the coat closet for you?”
Alfred could always be counted on to make things less awkward. Peter had what had to be a small armory in his coat, and so asking to take that seemed…ill-advised. Alfie didn’t even stumble over the pleasantries, though.
Peter’s face was carefully blank, but Damian was peering up into Peter’s face like this was abnormal or perhaps a cause for concern.
One of Peter’s trash-can-lid-sized hands rested on Damian’s head, which seemed to solve whatever problem there was. Damian was now leaning against Peter affectionately, in the way he’d only just started to do when he was exhausted with Dick.
Dick tried to push away the pang of jealousy. Clearly, Peter had cared for Damian in the past. Still cared for Damian, probably. And Damian trusted him. Of course he would be physically affectionate with-- shit, his primary caretaker? Dick had no business being jealous of that.
“Thank you,” and Peter smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was something desperate there that Dick didn’t like at all. “The helmet is a bit unwieldy.” And he handed his motorcycle helmet across to Alfred, like he wasn’t worried about them finding DNA. Which meant either that they wouldn’t get any useful information from his DNA, or that he had somehow kept his helmet from collecting shed hair with the follicle on it. Dick wondered which it was.
“Certainly, sir,” and Alfred swept off, leaving the rest of them standing awkwardly in the foyer. Or at least, Dick and Peter were standing awkwardly. Damian seemed quite content to lean against Peter’s leg-- it was the most relaxed he’d seen Damian around people in quite some time.
As awkward as it was, and as off-putting as Peter was, they’d need to invite Peter back. Certainly if Damian cared about him this much.
“Why don’t we go sit in the front parlor before dinner,” and it was the best surveilled room in the house, other than the BatCave and the ballroom. As much as he wanted Damian and Peter to get to spend time together, he wanted footage of it to watch and analyze later. “B will meet us in there when he gets the chance.”
Damian seemed to think that was fine, from the way he was dragging Peter through the halls, although Peter seemed strangely reluctant.
“Hey kid,” and Peter ruffled Damian’s hair. And didn’t lose his fingers for it. Dick wanted to learn his secrets. “Remember that these aren’t reinforced, yeah?”
“Why would you even wear them, then?” Damian sounded put out? Did Peter really reinforce all his pants so that Damian could climb and tug on all of them? Was that why Damian climbed Red Hood so readily?
Damian let go of Peter to open the parlor door and Peter made an aborted lunge for the kid, free hand going to his closest holster.
Okay. Peter was very protective of Damian. Noted. Was he controlling? Or just jumpy? That was something they’d have to keep an eye out for.
Dick’s bet was currently on jumpy, although he supposed Peter could be jumpy and controlling. Peter’s eyes hadn’t stopped moving once since he’d gotten off his bike, and it wasn’t because of lack of focus. There was a particular kind of looking around that was typical in good fighters and, well. Peter was making sure he didn’t miss anything.
Dick did wish, though, that the front parlor wasn't so stuffy. Sure, it was pretty, but it was designed to overwhelm and impress, not to be enjoyed.
He beelined for the most comfortable chair. He was going to take advantage of home field advantage, if nothing else, because if he got stuck on that godawful couch one more time.
Damian, though, the little weirdo, actually chose the couch, and tugged Peter down next to him. Which was cute. All the other chairs had their backs facing the door or the large french doors to the balcony-- and none of them were going to be caught dead taking those seats.
Peter looked wary, although having Damian next to him seemed to be going some way towards allaying whatever suspicions he was harboring.
That meant it was up to Dick to buy B time to get his shit together and Alfred time to finish up dinner. Although he was certain Alfred would have a plan.
“Did you get here alright?” and sure, it was a weak starter, but ‘how have you been lately’ couldn’t be counted on lately, and talking about Damian without any lead up was likely to get both Damian and Peter’s hackles up.
“Traffic was lovely,” and the expression Peter was making was probably supposed to be a smile.
“Peter,” and Damian had turned all the way towards him, in a way he did only with animals he knew well, with the intense eye contact Dick was still getting used to. “What pastries have you been making?”
And Damian was saving the conversation. Dick was going to have to take him to the zoo or something, later, as a treat.
It took Peter a moment to answer. Was he doing a breathing exercise? “Practicing phyllo, lately, but I’m looking for things to do with it. Got any ideas?” And this was directed almost entirely at Damian, but Dick couldn’t bring himself to care. Damian actually looked like he might want to have a conversation for once.
“Is that how you make baklava?” and right. Peter was who Damian went to when he got sick of Bruce’s and Alfie’s palettes. It shouldn’t be a surprise that Peter would learn to make something as tricky as phyllo so that he could feed Damian a treat.
It made Dick think almost overwhelmingly of Jason, though. Of how hard he had worked to learn how to make Dick’s favorite muffins when he had first started baking with Alfred. It didn’t help that Peter had a lot of Jason’s mannerisms, as much as Dick was trying to ignore it. The way he ruffled Damian’s hair, sat on the edge of the couch and then sat further back in it (like he was remembering that he was allowed to use furniture), the baking, the watchfulness -- all of it was perfectly normal stuff. But it did hurt, a bit. Especially since Damian and Jason had never gotten to meet.
“Sure is,” and those were definitely breathing exercises, no matter how agreeable Peter sounded, and Damian was definitely tapping out breathing counts on Peter’s leg. They’d need to talk about this later. “Do you have a version you’d like?”
“Walnuts, maybe, this time?” and- Damian didn’t usually voice his opinions on food. So far, he’d only done it when Peter was present.
“Sure, kid,” and Peter sounded absolutely normal, like there wasn’t a kid tapping counts out on his leg. “What about you? D’you have a favorite baklava, if I’m going to be dropping batches by?” and the glare that accompanied that was almost reassuring. Peter definitely had priorities and Dick wasn’t one of them. That was fine.
“I’m sure whatever it is will be delicious!” and it even had the benefit of being true. “The food you drop by always is!” And B was going to have an aneurysm, finding out they’d been eating food from the Red Hood, but whatever. It was good for him to realize he wasn’t in control of everything, and things could still turn out okay.
B opened the door to the parlor and Damian was suddenly being stuffed behind the couch?
And Damian said something in League that sounded mildly ominous, before slinking back out from behind the couch. Dick didn’t miss that he let Peter stand in between him and Bruce, though.
Well, those were some serious reaction times. Dick was very glad that Damian had had Peter as a guard, no matter what else had happened.
Deescalation, then. Peter seemed to have stopped.
“B, what did I tell you-”
And Peter moved. Interestingly enough, so did Damian.
“Father, freeze.” and Damian wasn’t joking, even though he was koala’d onto the back of the Red Hood. It was clear that the jacket was also reinforced for Damian to climb. There was a knife buried next to Bruce’s face, several inches into the wood.
That choice to be a threat instead of a potentially lethal injury had, in fact, been a choice. So B froze. Hood was- they were microshakes, of the kind that people with very strong will under mind control sometimes got.
“Move to your left, very slowly.” And Damian was coaching B through his movements. “No further. If you are to remain, you will do it exactly as I say.” He was making Robin eye contact, eye contact that said he was dead serious. “Otherwise, please withdraw slowly.”
Dick had never been so glad for the trust that Robin and Batman shared in his entire life. Damian would have to explain himself later, but B would listen.
“Put your hands up slowly and withdraw to the loveseat,” and Damian’s voice was less tense, although he was still clearly treating it like a hostage situation. B was, too, and Dick wondered what had changed. Was he just following Damian’s lead?
Peter moved his knife just enough to allow for the movement Damian had indicated, and no more.
When B was finally seated (moving excruciatingly slowly, for some reason), Peter finally turned to face Dick.
Ah. That would be why B was taking this seriously. Peter’s eyes glowed bright green, even through the domino.
“I’m just going to back slowly up and sit in the armchair,” and Dick didn’t need some Pit Mad bodyguard near him, Jesus Christ. No wonder Hood was a little trigger happy.
Damian slid off Hood’s back and tapped a quick pattern on the back of Hood’s leg before standing with his back to Dick.
Hood didn’t seem to like that, but Damian started talking. In English, this time, although B could probably have translated the League stuff later, if they needed. “I am safe with you.” Well, it was good to know what Hood’s priorities were.
“Be at peace.” and Damian drew a knife from Hood’s sheathes and roughly forced Hood to- hold the hand with the knife in it? To feel the knife hilt?
“You feel the knife in my hands. Know that I am armed.” That was one way to reassure a guard, and, from the way Hood’s stance shifted, it was helping.
So. The Red Hood’s only goal in life was to keep Damian safe. That was both inconvenient and weirdly reassuring.
It would be better if they were allowed near Damian when Hood was like this, but-- well, they’d work on it. It would have been even better than that if Damian had warned them, but he hadn’t tried to rush Hood out of the manor when this had happened, and he could have tried. So it was basically the same thing as telling Dick and Bruce. Just. Inconveniently.
“We are going to sit on the couch,” and Damian was tugging on Hood’s pant leg again. Why didn’t he wear the reinforced pants if he was going to spend time with Damian? “And you will guard me.”
Well. They’d see how hard it was to live normal life near Damian, Dick guessed. And how much Hood was able to function as his normal self.
Ra’s wasn’t a good metric for much of anything, but the Pit Madness was real and affected just about everyone who came out of the Pit. He wondered how many times Hood had been dumped in, and how recently.
“Peter,” and Damian was using his command voice. The same one he had just used on Batman, and the one he used on wayward police officers and cocky civilians. “Do not attack anyone unless they attack you or me directly.”
And Peter hadn’t taken a seat next to Damian, but he had taken up what was clearly a guard post next to the couch. If his priorities were Damian’s safety and only Damian’s safety, it made sense. Particularly if he had been dealing with the power struggles within the League.
“Yes, Your Highness.” Peter was doing breathing exercises again, and watching them all very closely.
God, Dick was going to have to find a way to learn more about League culture and the power dynamics Damian had grown up with. That wasn’t going to be easy or fun.
He wondered if there was anyone he could bribe. Bruce was horrible at having conversations about emotions, Damian shouldn’t have to have that conversation, and Hood seemed a little too reactive. So he’d need another option.
Damian nodded at Peter and looked at the two of them, allowing himself to speak in something closer to a normal cadence. Or what passed for a normal cadence for him, at least. “We will discuss this later,” and they certainly weren’t going to discuss Damian’s assassin bodyguard while the guy was in the middle of a Pit Rage, so yeah, later sounded good.
“Father, how was work today?” And, well, Damian picked the subject, so it was Bruce’s turn to continue the conversation.
And to B’s credit, he started talking about the most recent minor board clash without a noticeable stumble.
Dick allowed himself to tune it out and watch Damian and Peter.
Damian was a little more tense than usual, which was to be expected, but he was paying attention to Bruce, not Peter. As if he didn’t think Peter could be a threat.
Well, maybe Peter had never actually been a threat to him. That was another conversation they would need to have.
Bruce’s cadence changed in the way that indicated he was at the end of a story and would appreciate some commentary. “And despite what Clarence said, I do trust Lucius’s opinion, but I’m not sure what the rest of the board thinks. I’ll have to attend the next board meeting to find out.”
“Or you could ask the board members,” and this was an old and worn conversational back and forth. “Y’know, schmooze the way you’re supposed to?”
“Now,” and this let Bruce play whatever part he was focused on playing at the time. “Why would I do something like that?” His voice was dry and nonthreatening, and his body language was open. He was doing everything a man of his size and training could to appear less threatening, while still having a conversation.
Peter reached out and tapped something on the back of Damian’s shoulder, after which Damian nodded and rose. “I believe it is time for dinner. Peter, you will escort us and eat with us.”
And it was one thing to know Damian was used to having servants. He didn’t make a secret of it, and sometimes he had to be reminded that teachers and baristas couldn’t be ordered around.
It was another thing entirely to watch him order the current thorn in Batman’s side, one of the best shots in the world, and someone who was trusted to care for Ra’s Al Ghul’s grandson around like it was as easy as breathing.
Damian signaled for Bruce and Dick to walk in front. It was hopefully to keep Peter calm, but neither Bruce nor Dick liked it. No one liked having someone untrusted at their back, especially not with a child. It wasn’t quite a nightmare scenario, but it wasn’t far from it.
God, they were going to have to talk about so many things after this. It was going to suck.
Before they were even down the hall, Peter was suddenly knife deep in the wall and Damian was holding onto his leg, signaling that the situation was ‘volatile but handled’.
Dick was starting to hate that sign.
“Breathe,” and Damian sucked in a loud, deep breath where Peter would hopefully hear it, and was tapping out counts for breathing on Peter’s thigh. “I am safe with you. You are safe with me.”
The microshakes were back. Did Peter bury his knife in the wall to control himself? So that he knew where his knives were? As grounding?
Apparently, the thigh tapping and loud breathing were insufficient, because Damian was wiggling up so he was holding himself against Peter’s chest.
Was that what the straps were for? So that Damian could do something about the Pit Rage?
Damian was absolutely fearless. No one in their right mind would get within a city block of Red Hood while he was like this, and there was Damian, cheerfully climbing his…guard? And saying something in League that sounded comforting.
And it…was working? Peter’s free arm, which had been on one of his holsters, was very carefully coming up to cradle Damian closer. It was far tenser than it needed to be, and moved far slower than it needed to, but it was incredibly gentle as it supported Damian’s weight and reduced the amount of effort Damian had to put into holding on.
Huh.
He would never, in a million years, have bet on Damian being the Red Hood’s emotional support child.